in vino veritas
by SparkleMouse
Summary: The late summer breeze is a gentle hum and she relishes in the change of air in Napa, less humid and easier to take in like nothing matters but the grapes and atmosphere. The wine is a pleasant thrum throughout her body, lips moist with remnants of blackberry and chocolate, cedar and cassis.


Kate leans her head back and smiles, the sun washing over her face as her hair slips off the arm of the porch swing. She keeps her eyes open, staring at an upside down world of deep blue skies and endless rows of green, peaks of mountains breathtaking in the distance. The late summer breeze is a gentle hum and she relishes in the change of air in Napa, less humid and easier to take in like nothing matters but the grapes and atmosphere. The wine is a pleasant thrum throughout her body, lips moist with remnants of blackberry and chocolate, cedar and cassis. She's never tasted a Cabernet Sauvignon this flawless before and she can hear it trickle into the glass, curving around the edges in a swirl while Castle pours her more.

She glances up at the sound, the gleaming light streaming over the arched windows of the house they've borrowed from one of his colleagues for the week. She had been taken aback when they first pulled up to the estate; stone walls and ivied balconies, an infinity pool and gazebo with an outdoor bar, four bedrooms and a wine cellar below but it was all overshadowed by the acres of vineyard that were spread across the backyard, lush and gorgeous.

They spent the entire first day walking the rows and getting lost in the maze of grapes, their hands clasped together and their footsteps in sync on the dirt path. On day three she had stomped on grapes, the bottoms of her feet purple even as they soaked in the jacuzzi later on that night and on day five they had ignored the wine tours, the friends of both of theirs they were supposed to meet up with, and spent the entire day in bed, the sheets rumbled and clothes thrown across the room. Last night he had cooked her dinner in their ridiculous sized kitchen while she lit a fire outside and as they sat there long past midnight, she had curled up against him and whispered _I love you. _She could hear the smile in his voice when he responded, mumbled and delicate against the crown of her head.

They leave in a little over twelve hours, back to New York and murders and _life_ and she's not ready for it, not when this trip has made her fall even more in love with him, has reminded her again and again how much he's changed her, how much _she's_ changed _him_. She straightens and leans forward, the swing rocking, and takes the wine from his hand before sitting back again. Her feet are in his lap and she digs her toes into his thighs, taking a sip. It's their second bottle of the day and with each one over the past week she's learned something new, tasted a different flavor, understood the process like it was a work of art. She spins the glass in her hand, watches the waves shimmy and he's raising an eyebrow waiting on her. It's also been a week of games: board games, guessing games, sharing things that five years of friendship and a year of dating have never taught them.

"You're taking too long," Castle whines, and he's different here too. He's back to the childlike playfulness that lacks on those long murder cases, the glint in his eyes so similar to when she had first met him. Annoying and obnoxious and so incredibly hard to resist. He wraps his hand around her ankle, tickling her leisurely and she nearly kicks the wine out of his hand.

"Stop it."

"Then ask the question."

"I'm thinking," Kate grumbles. She takes a sip of the Cabernet, letting him wait on purpose now. Truthfully she's known what she wanted to ask for the past twenty minutes, but she wants to take all of it in, to live in this moment, in this vacation forever. It's only when he starts to get antsy that she gives in. "What was the first thing you wrote that was just for you? Not for school, not to prove to everyone that you had a talent, but something that meant something to you?"

Castle kneads his fingers into the bottom of her feet absentmindedly (a welcomed distraction from the tickling at least), and she watches his face, the change in his eyes. He has moments like this, serious and bare, and she loves when he hands over pieces of himself, the ones he had hidden behind masks and jokes for so long.

"I was miserable my first year of boarding school. I was homesick and lonely and I'd stay in my room and fantasize about the person I wanted to become. I wanted to go on adventures, I wanted to travel the world and meet people so that I'd never be alone. I'd pick up someone in China and we'd end up in Rome and then Paris. I wanted to go back in time and be a witness to the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I wanted to explore new land with Christopher Columbus. All those thoughts comforted me. There was so much to the world I didn't know and the possibilities of what waited out there for me were endless. It was like magic, Beckett. In a world where everything felt confined, those images didn't. So I wrote. I made things up, I ventured into a place with flying spaceships and life on other planets. I didn't have friends, but it was okay, because I had this."

There's a slight ache in her chest at the dejected little boy he used to be, blue eyes once filled with sadness and doubt. But he's smiling now, mouth stained slightly with wine, and she leans toward him, brushing her lips over his. He slides a hand through her hair, forehead against hers.

"Six bridesmaid dresses," he murmurs against her mouth, stealing a kiss. "For who?"

She laughs, pushing herself back. The swing rocks and it lulls her into a state of relaxation. She settles further down, knees lifting, her dress sliding up. His hands roam, but it's comforting more than sexual, his hands in need of constant movement. "How do you even remember that?"

"You in bridesmaid dresses? Come on, Beckett. Like I'd ever forget that. I'm also offended that after all this time I haven't seen pictures. Did you have puffy sleeves? Taffeta? Oh please tell me you had to wear some big brimmed pink hat with a lot of fabric on it."

Kate glares at him but it only spurs him on. His grin grows wider, smug because he knows that he's right. Somehow he knows and she rolls her eyes, taking a healthy sip of wine. "Fine, there was _one_ hat."

"Can I-"

"No. I'm not showing you pictures."

"Beckett, come _on._ You're no fun."

"I seem to remember you saying something entirely different last night."

"Yeah, okay, that was awesome."

"Thought so."

She takes a grape off the side table and pops it into her mouth. She thinks of all those dresses she had once worn; the unflattering colors, the complaints that she was too pretty and therefore her dress had to be a disgusting shade of green like vomit and pea soup had combined, the shuffling of material when she walked. But there had been good ones too; elegant and black, short and the perfect fit. She picks one out of her mind and starts there because if it's first maybe he'll forget, let her live it down. Or knowing Castle, maybe not.

"I left Stanford after my freshman year but when I was there I became best friends with one of the girls who lived on my floor. Melissa Winters. She was from this tiny town in upstate New York and she was so different from Maddie which is what I was looking for at the time. She was quiet and I was still trying to figure out who I wanted to be. I spent all of high school rebelling against – _something._ I dated grunge rockers to piss off my dad, rode motorcycles because I wanted adventure, had way too many drunken nights-"

"If we ever have a daughter, she's staying locked in her room until I am dead."

Her fingers still around the glass; they haven't discussed kids before and she can feel the wine rushing through her veins, the swirling in her head as the words repeat themselves again. They've lived together for three months now and the subject of marriage has been broached with both caution and teasing but a child has remained unspoken. But as the words settle down in her chest, nuzzle against her heart, there's something so _right_ about it, something that seems so natural that it doesn't petrify her in ways she once thought. He's looking at her like it wasn't a slip of the tongue, like it was everything he meant to say and she smiles.

"I don't know, Castle. It's not like you were a perfect angel either. I think we're screwed either way."

"I will have you know that I've already raised a perfect daughter."

"You think you're gonna get that lucky with another one?"

He thinks about it for a moment, before lifting his shoulder in a shrug. "Yeah, you're right. We're screwed."

She laughs, ducking her head. Her hair falls around her face in a curtain and she's so goddamn happy that it's overwhelming, that she needs a minute to go back in time, to find the story she was telling because now she's caught up in children and marriage and just _him_. The wine is warm against her tongue when she drinks and she calms, feels her heart rate return to normal. "Melissa was the one who introduced me to _Nebula 9._ I thought it was so lame at first, Castle."

"Maybe that's because-"

Kate holds up a finger to silence him. "No. This is not an opportunity for you to make fun of my show."

"Fine but-"

"Castle."

"Shutting up."

"After two episodes, I was addicted. For Halloween that year, she convinced me to be Lieutenant Chloe. She said my legs would look great in that outfit." Castle is nodding his head emphatically and she tosses a grape at him. It bounces off his shoulder and onto the ground. "We did our first convention a couple of weeks after that. After I left school we remained friends. She got married two years after college and I -" She takes a deep breath; here goes nothing. "It was a cosplay wedding."

Castle's mouth drops open and she doesn't think she's ever seen him look so excited. "You were a bridesmaid in a cosplay wedding? How have I never known this?"

"Because I knew you would make a big deal out of it!"

"Were you Lieutenant Chloe? Did you have to fight off the Cleavers while you were walking down the aisle?"

"Creavers and this is why I didn't tell you!"

"_You_ were in a cosplay wedding. Kate Beckett. Do you not understand how _fantastic_ this is?"

She brings the wine glass to her mouth, unable to hide the smile. "I really hate you sometimes."

"That's just the wine talking."

"_Anyway_," she continues, "the brimmed hat wedding was one of my friends from NYU. She moved to Alabama after graduation and met a Southern millionaire. The wedding was in the dead of summer. It was so hot that the groom's mother nearly passed out and in the middle of the _outdoor_ ceremony, it started pouring. The mud was so thick, our dresses got ruined and it was probably the worst wedding I've ever been to."

"At least it wasn't a dead bridesmaid."

"No, but there was about to be a dead bride for putting us through that torture."

Castle presses his fingers into her sole and she nearly moans at the pressure. He smirks, but doesn't stop, continues his ministrations with practiced ease. "What about the other ones?"

"Nothing too exciting. There was my partner in Vice, my second cousin who was like a sister to me growing up, and a former friend who I think only put me in her wedding party to prove that she didn't care her husband was in love with me throughout all of high school."

"You don't think that's exciting? Was there a catfight? Did she rip out your weave in the middle of the vows?"

Kate lifts an eyebrow. "My weave? You do realize this wasn't an episode of _The Wives of Wall Street_, right?"

"Creative liberties, Beckett." She grabs another grape to throw at him, but he catches it this time with a shake of his head. "Stop wasting food."

"Stop being an idiot so I want to throw them at you."

He pops the grape into his mouth, narrowing his eyes. "That's only five. What about the sixth?"

She smiles wistfully, finishing off her glass. "My parents."

Castle looks at her confused, and she almost wants to laugh because she knows him. She knows he's probably thinking of some ridiculous theory like her in a bridesmaid dress in utero or that she'd somehow never mentioned that her parents weren't married when she was born.

"They got remarried when I was fifteen," she helps out. "My dad had planned a trip to Hawaii for the two of them for their anniversary and Maddie and I had a huge party planned. I'm talking flyers, kegs; it was going to be _epic._ Three days before my parents were leaving my dad surprised me with a ticket. I was so mad, Castle. I swear he knew what I was up to. I felt like such a moron canceling that party. Our second day there, they got remarried. About five minutes after the ceremony, I rode off on the back of a Harley with one of the locals. That was when I discovered my love of motorcycles."

"I bet Jim was wishing he had left you home."

"Our apartment was still standing when we got back. I think that was all he cared about."

Castle lifts her legs from his lap, turning them so her feet hit the floor. He stands up and heads to the bar, a line of wine bottles on the counter. "Which one?"

"Surprise me."

She turns away from him, gazing out into the vineyard. The sky has turned into a magnificent orange, the remaining sunlight casting over the land in glimmering detail. Everything is brighter in the moment, more profound and she wishes she could use words like him, write this into her memory and come back to it time and time again. The way the air smells, the feeling of happy intoxication that warms her and makes her laugh without reason. The lingering taste of wine on her lips, fruity and a little bitter; the sounds of the winds and how they're warm and freeing and just right.

"Hey."

Kate snaps her attention back to him and takes the glass he's offering. It's more than half full and she's already on her way to drunk but it doesn't seem to matter here. Not when they're alone on this property, not when she can feel it running through her; a contradiction of wildfire and serenity. "Thanks. What is it?"

"You asked me to surprise you. Take a guess."

She rolls her eyes, but lifts it to her nose. She takes in the scent of it, twists her wrist as the liquid weaves around the sides before she sips it. It's smooth, earthy and her taste buds erupt with an embodiment of flavors she hasn't quite encountered before. It's more unique than the others, but there's something familiar with it and she grins. "Blackberry."

"Easy. Keep going."

She gives him a dirty look but try again, swirling the red in her mouth so she can taste all of it, the ingredients she can't quite place and then she laughs, because _of course_, of course he chose this one. She turns his chin so he's facing her and softly presses her lips to his. "Coffee," she murmurs into his mouth and he grins, nodding.

"I knew you'd taste that eventually."

"That hasn't been in the other ones we drank. I love it."

"What else?"

"A spice of some kind. Pepper?" She tastes it again and it reminds her of a bottle they drank their second night down in the cellar. They had sat across from each other on the floor, legs beside one another, questions being fired off at rapid speed. His most prized possession, her favorite word, how she wanted him to propose. The bottle had sat beside them, long and black, silver writing scrawled across the label. "It's a Syrah."

"I'm impressed, Beckett. Maybe I should buy us a vineyard."

"At least wait until I'm in retirement so we can enjoy it."

"You'd consider it?"

"Ask me again in thirty years."

Castle caresses her cheek, the blinding sun a reflection deep in the blue of his eyes. "I love you," and she's not quite sure what brought it on, but he's kissing her after that, languid and effortless and so full of devotion that it makes her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

She puts her wine down on the table behind him and wraps her arms around his neck, moving closer. The swing rocks with a gentle motion and it's dizzying; that exceptional mix of being the right amount of tipsy and she slides her tongue past the crease of his lips, her fingers dragging along the hair at the nape of his neck. It goes on for what seems like minutes; his hands brushing over her bare back, their mouths moving in a rhythm they've perfected over the last fifteen months. She can taste the wine on his tongue, the fresh grapes they've been eating on and off all day and wants more of him, all of him.

His knuckle brushes over her ribs. "Dance with me," he breathes, his hands tangled in her hair.

Kate lifts her head, cheeks flushed. "You're drunk and there is no music."

"I'll sing to you. And I'm not that drunk."

She laughs. "Careful, Castle. You're going to turn into a cheesy romantic comedy before you know it."

"At least you can finally admit they're cheesy."

"I never said they weren't."

"At the risk of sounding like an overhyped Katherine Heigl movie where you know she's going to end up with the guy no matter how moronic she acts." Castle stands up, holding his hand out to her. "Dance with me."

Kate ducks her head before looking back up at him. He doesn't care that it's ridiculous, that they're going to stumble barefoot around the grounds. He doesn't care that it makes them a cliché, and she finds herself holding her hand out to him, letting him pull her up and off the swing. She stumbles into his arms, and she's wrapped around him, her right hand secured firmly in his left. There's no rhythm in their movements as she twirls out of his embrace, even less when he pulls her back in. Her feet sink into the grass, the ends of her dress ruffling as she sways against him.

"Did you really date a prince?" he asks.

"For four months when I was a senior in high school. You think about us having kids?"

Castle leans back, sliding a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes. Do you?"

The answer slides off her tongue; in wine there is truth. "Yes."

"We're going to need a padlock for that kid's room," he muses, and she laughs loudly, pressing her lips to his neck.

She can feel his pulse vibrating against her and she kisses him, darts her tongue out until she can feel it jump and quicken. They continue to sway, the sky darkening as night falls over them. His hands are fisted in her hair again, tangling beneath the waves and he's humming something in her ear. Not quite singing, but a melody she can't place, one that might not even be real but it settles deep inside of her, him and the wine and all the secrets shared.

"What book signing of mine did you attend?"

Her heart stops; so maybe not all the secrets shared quite yet. She pushes back but his arms are still around her. Her brain is swimming and she doesn't know – she hadn't told him she had gone, she's not even sure he's aware of how big a fan she is. But he's asking and –

"I've been trying to figure this out for the past four years."

And then she laughs, because really, it's funny. It's funny that this is her life, that _he's_ her life, that she had met him years before he was even aware of it, that he's held onto this knowledge for all of this time, that she's held onto it even longer. They're still learning how to do this and the past seven days has helped; truth unraveling in the maze of the vineyards.

"You've known for four years and you've never mentioned it?"

"I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

"So what changed?"

"The consumption of two and a half bottles of wine?"

The laughter continues and she's suddenly not sure why she's kept it from him for so long. It never seemed to be the right time. It was her first memory of him before he invaded her space, her life, her job. But standing out here with her equilibrium unbalanced, dancing under the stars, an entire lifetime ahead of them, it doesn't seem to matter anymore. "How did you know?"

"Remember the night before your first apartment blew up?"

"I have a vague recollection, yes."

"You went to sleep and left me with two very full, very expensive glasses of wine that I was not about to waste."

"And you decided to snoop?"

"I wouldn't call it snooping so much as getting to know my muse."

Kate rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say, Castle."

He leans her back and dips her, the entire world around her upside down again. The moon has taken over for the sun and she can see the glittering of stars, nightfall in paradise. He lifts her up and pulls her closer. "You had a lot of books. I went through a lot of them. Joyce. Salinger. You had anthologies of poems and Mamet plays-"

"And your books."

"And my books. I was fascinated with how worn they looked, like you had poured over them for hours. I wanted to know what you saw in them. I wanted to see if I could read it from your point of view at a time when I thought I knew you and maybe didn't at all. I picked At Dusk We Die first. It looked the most read. I didn't expect to see the autograph though. When was it?"

"Two years before we officially met. Union Square, Barnes and Noble."

"That would have been 2007. Storm Gathering. Why the older book? Too cheap to buy the hardcover, Beckett?"

"Shut up." She wants to tell him about all the reasons why she had chosen that one, all the reasons he still isn't aware of. Not here though, not when there's nothing heavy about the moment. She cups his face with her free hand and kisses him. "Can we talk about it when we get home?"

He smiles, lips never parting and nods. "Of course."

It's silent again except for the wind rustling the trees, the sounds of their feet grazing over the grass and dirt. She's inches shorter than him like this and she fits herself against the wall of his chest, her head settling in the crook of his neck. Her eyes close and she thinks about all she's learned about him this week, all the things that make her love him more than she already did. Like the fact that he had once flushed a fish down the toilet as a child because he was livid over not getting a dog and how he'd spent the rest of his life making it up to them. (_I once won Alexis seventeen fish at a carnival, Beckett. Seventeen fish. What are you supposed to do with that manygold fish?) _She had discovered his favorite ninja turtle was Michelangelo (_Who wouldn't want to eat that much pizza?) _and how he had looked through his mother's things when he was eleven in search of his answers on his father. It makes her think of those first stories he had written and all the adventures he's taken since.

"Can I read it?"

Castle startles, his breath light on her forehead. "Read what?"

"The first set of stories you wrote."

"Are you going to show me your bridesmaid photos? Tit for tat."

She lifts her head. The lights from the porch have turned on automatically, casting the area in a soft glow and he's grinning at her like he's made some incredible sexual comment instead of something idiotic and overused and something so _him_. "I'll show you one of them."

"There are _six_ stories. It's a packaged deal."

"You are not seeing Melissa's wedding photos."

"Then no stories."

Kate scrunches her nose and she can feel herself giving in. "Six stories and I'll show you photos from four weddings and wear nothing but the pink hat one night."

"That's - Wait, you still have the pink hat?"

His grip around her waist loosens again and then they're back to dancing, steps and dips and mismatched moves. "I still have all of those dresses. They're in a closet at my dad's."

"Do I get the-"

She places her finger over his mouth, shaking her head. "Do we have a deal or not? Six stories, four pictures, and me in nothing but the hat."

He considers it, and she drops her finger, waiting for his answer. They both know he'll get all of them out of her eventually. Next week, next month, years down the line. He leans his head down and kisses her cheek, a seal of a promise.

"Deal."

* * *

_Thoughts and comments always welcomed. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
